Sympathy For The Devil
by DXIII
Summary: -Post ROTF, DK rewrite- When is a prototype bridging vehicle NOT a prototype bridging vehicle? When it's a big damn mech that does a better job of scaring criminals than you... -FINALLY UPDATED-
1. Prologue: Nice To Meet You

"_Please allow me to introduce myself/I'm a man of wealth and taste..."_

The dark shape rolled to a halt behind the gun-toting mobsters, waiting for a lull in the raging gunfight between them and the hooded thugs daring to impersonate its true owner. As the lead gunman - a pony-tailed and bearded man known only as the Chechen – and a young-ish man in a suit (I.D.'ed as Doctor Jonathan Crane - aka Scarecrow) turned in surprise, it momentarily powered down all locomotive systems.

Roughly fifteen feet long and half again as high, the wheeled monstrosity sported various armor plates welded together in a seemingly ungainly fashion. Were it not for the fact that Crane himself had seen it in action not even a year ago after his break-out from Arkham, he'd almost be tempted to believe that the "clunker" idling before him would never stand up to the assault his compatriots would be more than happy to rain upon it.

Seconds before the others could bring their guns to bear on the chosen vehicle of Gotham's own dark vigilante, a screen within lit up with a single word. Were one sitting within the chassis of the heavily armored pseudo-tank and of a mind to do so, one might, perhaps, have picked up on a thrill of vindictive glee emanating the screen as it blared its' message: "INTIMIDATE".

A rocket fired from one of the two front "prongs" of the Tumbler forced the humans in front of it to scatter as it impacted against the white van sat opposite. Amidst the explosion, the darker persona of Gotham's Favorite Son made himself known, elbowing an imposter to the cape and cowl in the face before launching himself at both mobsters and phony Bat-men alike.

Such was the ferocity of his attack that the Chechen could only stare for a full three seconds before turning and shouting an order to the underling holding his dogs on thick chains. Released from their bonds at last, they barrelled at the black Kevlar-garbed combatant and jumped on him. Batman managed to deal with the over-zealous animals, but not before their master had made good his escape. Dislodging the last one by swinging it into the support pillar, he spied the final white van attempting to leave. _Not this time_, he thought as he jumped onto the side of the speeding van. Knowing the sliding side door would be locked, he unhooked a cutting tool from his belt and began applying it to the fragile metal.

Unexpectedly, the driver of his unwitting vehicular victim swerved dangerously close to another support pillar. While it wasn't close enough to damage the van itself (no more than it was already, at any rate) it was certainly close enough to knock Batman from his perch on the side of the van. Rising, he grimaced and exhaled roughly. _Screw this. I try playing nicely, and he throws me against a stack of cement._ He climbed on top of the barrier and looked down, running quick figures in his head before coming to a final conclusion. _Hope he's insured, for his sake._ With that final thought he jumped from the ledge separating spiralling pavement from open air as the van left the ramp, bringing it to ground level.

His landing all but completely flattened the roof of the van, shattering every window on it as the framework twisted under the sudden strain. Batman inwardly clapped himself on the back for installing the shock absorbers in his boots before jumping down and ripping open the driver's side door, yanking out the suited and burlap-sack-faced driver and throwing him none-too-gently onto the ground. Sitting him up, a gloved hand pulled off the sack to reveal the youthful features of the man who had, a year previously, almost dealt irreparable damage to Gotham.

Working quickly, he bound the by-now nearly-conscious fake Bat-men beside the equally restrained Crane. As the leader of the gang turned his eyes toward the Caped Crusader, Batman growled at him, "Don't let me catch you out here again," before turning and heading back toward the Tumbler. The response he got was indignant. "We're trying to help you!"

Climbing onto his personal transport he snarled back, "I don't _need _help!" Crane's interjection ("Not my diagnosis!") was lost and ignored as the Bat Gang leader responded with a more irate tone than before. "What makes you different to us? What gives you the right?!" Batman's reply came just as the top of the Tumbler slid shut. "_I'm_ not wearing hockey masks."

-0-0-0-

The ride "home" – what passed for home these days, seeing as how Wayne Manor (and all subsequent extensions) was still undergoing reconstruction – was silent save the roar of the powerful engine. For the most part, anyway. The consciousness within the pseudo-tank grinned to itself. -That was fun. We should _definitely_ do it again,- he thought before remembering the nasty hit his passenger/driver had taken, as well as the near mauling he'd sustained by those fierce canines. Humans were fragile things, Kevlar bodysuit or not; their bodies simply did not have the structural resilience of certain other species. Such as, for example, the life form in which Gotham's Dark Knight now rode.

Older than the original natives of this planet by a good six or seven millennia, he himself had seen tougher creatures than this single human trampled underfoot in the wake of a stampeding charge of his own kind. The distress over his charge's injuries would have been greater had he not, nearly a full solar cycle ago, witnessed the man's near-supernatural ability to simply _ignore _any pain inflicted upon him. He'd been severely poisoned, for Primus' sake, and not three hours after he'd recovered he'd been up and moving around, driving on rooftops and dodging several elements of the local law enforcement. All of this _after _initiating a "beatdown", as the humans termed it, upon Dr. Crane and his then-associates and rescuing a human femme from near-irrevocable brain damage.

The mech had met several vigilante-esque characters in his time, but few were as resilient and battle-hardened as this "Batman" character that the Wayne heir had concocted. Wayne himself was no slouch either; able to perfectly balance the "billionaire-playboy" persona with a ruthless "frag-me-off-and-I'll-feed-you-your-optics" attitude of which Megatron and a handful of his elite would be admiring.

His internal musing was cut off as Wayne inserted a portable flash drive and music began blaring out of the onboard speakers. Amid the drumbeats and screams, the mech accessed his Internet connection to identify the sound playing through his systems. _"Pleased to meet you/Hope you guess my name!"_ -No need to guess, friend. A strange introduction to a rather fitting song,- he chuckled to himself. Any further contemplation was cut off as his comm registered an incoming call.

His attempts to trace the originating location drew him up short. -Egypt? What are they doing in Egypt? Oh, yes, that's right...- [So you all survived,] he sent. The gruff response he received was unmistakably Ironhide's. [Only just. Ratchet tells me my spark casing was nearly fractured, Chromia and Flareup are offline, and Prime...frankly, I'm surprised he's still standing.] Surprise flooded the Tumbler-mech. [What exactly happened out there?!] [I'm sending you the details. Those are the worst of the injuries, but I can tell you now no-one left that fragging sand-Pit unscathed.] An alert pinged across his connection as the absent Weapons Specialist began his end of the transfer.

[I'm going for some recharge – medic's orders. We'll check in after we return to Diego Garcia.] The "crate" that led to the stand-in Batcave was just ahead and Bruce unplugged his flash drive, alerting his transport. [Very well. I'll send you and Prime my status report then.]

[ Mirage out.]

-0-0-0-

_Evenin' folks, and welcome to something inspired by a concept art that I'm relatively certain every TF fan has seen by now (if not, hang your head in shame while you Google "tumbler transformer"). The Rolling Stones' iconic track was playing through my head non-stop as I brainstormed and wrote this, hence the name. This one'll be updated at a slightly slower rate than How We Came To Be (seeing as I'm focusing most of my idea-stuff on that), but not by very much. I think we can pretty much guess how this'll turn out, but there's gonna be one big difference between this and TDK. Go ahead. Guess. I dares ya :P_

_Next time: Mirage gets debriefed on Egypt; another familiar face shows himself; and Bruce notices something strange..._


	2. I: Of Rebirths And Similarities

I LIVE! Though prolly not for long...*eyes horde of angry fans in distance* So yeah, for the last year-and-a-bit I had no computer. My only access was through phone/iPod and wi-fi spots. But y'all ain't here for excuses...onward! And Gods help me if the next one comes any later than, say...a month, max?

* * *

His first impression as he opens the file is that of chaos; that familiar tingle in his circuits that screams of battle. Human soldiers in strategic positions around a shape that is instantly recognisable as the Prime - one of the humans confirms it by his order of protection for this shell that was once his commander.

He is not often given to vulgarities, but it is not often one sees a beloved figure in such a state. -Holy frag. I honestly thought it was part of Sideswipe's sick sense of humor.-

An escalation, now. Decepticons making planetfall by the dozen - and a faint multi-colored speck at the foot of the farthest pyramid. He zooms in on this, and is momentarily taken aback. -Devastator?- He is in doubt; he personally terminated no less than three Constructicons himself - but then he remembers an old briefing: if even a single unit functions, they can and will rebuild.

The rise of voices in the temporary human encampment brings him back to those covering the body of Optimus, just in time to see two figures sprinting towards the farthest structure before the Decepticon lines. As they take shelter with the humans' commander, Mirage gets his first look at the face of the one who killed Megatron.

This is the first time that Mirage has seen Samuel James Witwicky, the young human who brought down the "Tyrant Of Cybertron". -And damned our race in the process,- he muses. Despite this statement, he feels no bitterness, no resentment toward this child. -Our race was doomed long before Mission City,- he reasons. And he is, after all, a fierce advocate of the argument that in certain moments, there is only one path to take. Young Samuel, it seems, shares this advocacy; he appears to argue momentarily with the older human warrior before the latter acquiesces.

The commander's partner turns toward him and mutters something, only to see his shoulders slump and an exasperated look in return. The other looks mildly sheepish for a split second before all four of them - the commander, his second, Samuel, and a young human femme - spring to their feet and sprint away from the lone barrier between the Decepticons and their fellow soldiers. Not a moment too soon it seems, as that area is awash with flame seconds later.

He sees Samuel break off from the others, going for Optimus - and sees a silver-armored figure emerge from the smoke and dust behind him. He seems to have temporarily forgotten this angry red-eyed behemoth; Megatron, on the other hand, clearly hasn't forgotten him.

A flash from Megatron's cannon arm sends the human flying, almost in slow-motion, several feet through the air. The youth's scream is naught but reflex; Mirage can tell, even with his limited knowledge of human physiology, that Samuel is dead before he hits the ground a second later.

Screams and sobs from what Mirage assumes are the boy's parental units join the sound of continued battle as a medic attempts to revive him to no avail. Yet, without warning, his eyes snap open and he draws breath, again and again, in the midst of an incredulous and bewildered audience.

Samuel leaps to his feet now, his eyes focused on a glittering metallic item that Mirage recognises from his early histories. -The Matrix! It was supposed to be a legend...- He is cut off as it flares to life at the young human's touch. It emits a brilliant blue glow as Samuel half-crawls, half-runs to Optimus' body. Mirage is beyond confusion and disbelief as he watches the youth climb up to the Prime's chest and all but slam the Matrix into Optimus' spark chamber.

Only extreme self-control stops Mirage from actually reversing into the wall of Bruce Wayne's self-proclaimed "Batcave" in shock as Optimus spasms once, then starts to rise. He is torn between shock and joy as he hears his commander, his leader, the authority figure so many of his faction would be proud to call "father", speak for the first time since Mirage had made planetfall himself over a year ago. "Boy," that deep gravelly voice that had inspired a distraught Cybertron countless millennia ago intones. "You returned for me." The boy in question looks up at him with mingled relief and a hint of guilt. Yet this scene, too, is interrupted.

A flash of light mid-air knocks human and Cybertronian alike to the ground, and a staff-bearing figure emerges in that same instant. Mirage can only watch, shocked, as another legend of old steps forth from the pages of forgotten lore. -This is almost akin to one of Kup's yarns. First the Matrix of Leadership, now The Fallen - who's next, Unicron himself?-

The legend in front of him has one taloned footpad on the Prime's chest as he telekinetically rips the Matrix from its current spot in the recovering Prime's spark chamber. "My Matrix," his raspy voice croons before disappearing into the distance - and reappearing in front of a glittering metallic construct jutting from the top of the farthest pyramid. Mirage's thoughts snap back to the rainbowed speck he spotted at the beginning of this file, and he scans for any sign of the mammoth gestalt. His optics rest upon pieces of what were, until recently it seems, the upper body of the combined titan. Any interrogatory thoughts are put on hold as his optics catch movement - human jets are moving toward the pyramid, and toward The Fallen and Megatron.

Their movement is abruptly halted - as is their continued existence - by the levitating debris now surrounding the pyramid. But now more commotion on the ground as a black-painted mortally wounded winged figure approaches the group. Mirage, silent observer, is in awe. -A Seeker. I didn't think any still lived.- The old mech speaks, beseeching Optimus. "Take my parts, and you will have a power you've never known." The only mech present older than even Ironhide falls to the ground as he takes his own life; and Ratchet, hardened battlefield medic that he is, wastes no time enlisting Jolt to magnetize the parts he is hastily grafting to Optimus' armor. Midnight wings and engines mesh with brilliant red and blue, and within seconds the work is done. The Prime nods, whether as thanks to his impromptu outfitters or in tribute to the fallen Seeker, then flies into the air with engines roaring.

The file skips here, and in that brief interlude Mirage becomes aware of the presence of his "driver" and his butler-slash-longtime friend, Alfred. They are in front the multiple monitors Wayne has set up here, with their attention focused on the largest one: a facial recognition program running alongside a video clip of a suited, smiling face waving toward the camera.

His attention is swept back to Ironhide's post-battle file as he sees Megatron and Starscream take off into the darkening sky, and he sweeps the dunes for any sign of Optimus. He spots him, finally, rising victorious from a smoking ruin that can only be The Fallen and rapidly shedding the midnight armor which had been hastily added to his frame seemingly seconds ago. Mirage cannot help but hear an echo of his commander's famous battle cry - "One shall stand, one shall fall." His optics rise to the top of the pyramid where he sees only wreckage. His gaze returns to his fellow Autobots, clearly victorious yet not without losses. He briefly winds back and sees the fall of the Arcee units. Ending the playback altogether, he utters a silent prayer to the Well for the brave femmes as he returns his attention to the two humans in the room with him.

Alfred is speaking to the younger man. "I trust you don't have _me_ followed on my day off." Bruce's reply is lost as the disguised Autobot begins musing to himself. Mirage sees himself in Alfred, both what was and what will eventually be. This is a man who has seen his share of Hell in life and who, even now, is still experiencing a degree of it as he watches his adopted son wage war on Gotham-spawned crime. He, too, is a man who knows that sometimes the only choices are the hardest ones to make; that sometimes we have no other option but to walk a dark path.

But unlike Mirage and Bruce, he sees and acknowledges that at this stage in his life he can do little more in this crusade than watch, advise, and mend the young warrior's wounds. Mirage harbors a suspicion that, had someone stood up to the scum of Gotham twenty-or-more years ago as Batman is doing now, Alfred would be on the front lines himself.

Bruce rises and shrugs out of his black t-shirt. Even more than two meters away Mirage can see the scars that tell a tale of violence starting before the birth of Batman. "Know your limits," cautions Alfred. It is, after all, the only thing he can do at this point, save for offering a fervent prayer for Bruce's safe return every time he goes into battle. With a note of dark humor, Bruce replies that "Batman has no limits." -But you do,- Mirage silently contributes, and is unwittingly echoed by the veteran warrior. "Well, can't afford to know them," jabs the younger as he buttons his collared shirt.

Mirage is at once both contemplative and annoyed - the annoyance born of concern he has harbored for this human's safety for the past several months - at his statement. He had himself arrived at that same mentality eons ago. His own appearance is testament to that fact: where once were sleek and fluid curves are now bulky armored plates giving an almost ungainly boxy appearance in vehicle form, and a smooth if seemingly patchwork finish in bipedal mode.

Whatever the negative reactions of those closest to him, he at least has the wisdom to see what must be done, and from that Mirage muses that Wayne would make an interesting Prime.

-(^-^)-

Both men made to leave, with Bruce following Alfred. He'd had no intention being so flippant regarding his own safety, but he had long ago subscribed to that ancient saying: "Never let them see you bleed." Batman was a symbol; if he showed weakness, any kind at all, he'd be as effective in terrorizing criminals as a water-logged kitten. He'd read multiple studies on psychopaths – a necessity in his job, he figured – and in more than a few cases the individuals in question had attributed the heinous deeds they were accused of to a separate entity. Not so Bruce. When it came to appearance, he considered Bruce Wayne and Batman to be two halves of the same being. /Like a married couple,\ he grinned to himself-

He paused, gazing back at the Tumbler. /Movement? No...coulda sworn...hmm...\ Something seemed...-off- about his personal mini-tank lately. /Or maybe it's just me. Maybe Alfred's right. I'm getting too into this. Next time I run into those copycats, I might ask them to cover so I can take a night off, get some well-deserved rest...\ He shook his head and exited, the lights dimming as he left.

* * *

PARTING SHOT: To the reviewer who requested Prowl as the Tumbler, he will have a role in this. Not a huge one, but definitely a role. You'll know him when you see him...


End file.
